


(Not) A Rebound

by ghostlikemanner



Category: South Park
Genre: Break Up, Childhood Friends, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, One Shot, bringing in the new season with some stenny, kenny thinks he's neat, stan is a dumb joth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:21:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26842066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostlikemanner/pseuds/ghostlikemanner
Summary: “There’s no way in Hell that the star captain of the football team, with perfect teeth, and an ass that won’t quit, will be alone forever. At least come up with somethin’ that makes sense if you’re gonna fall back into your harmful and repetitive self-pity parade.”"Jeez, Ken."--Kenny helps turn Stan's mood around after Wendy dumps his ass. Again.
Relationships: Stan Marsh/Kenny McCormick
Comments: 19
Kudos: 51





	(Not) A Rebound

“I think we need to break up.”

Stan looks up from his textbook, his eyebrows raised into his hairline. That’s one way to get his attention. It’s not the first time he’s heard those words directed at him, but it never fails to feel like a complete punch to the bowels. 

Wendy’s sudden outburst is followed with dead silence, thick and unsettling. They had been sitting together for a little over two hours now, working away at the homework they’d neglected to touch over the winter break. It wasn’t exactly an eventful date, but they often spent their time together this way. It was productive, and totally mature of them. There’s nothing wrong with that. 

What’s wrong is when your girlfriend says something deliberately shocking in order to scare you into paying attention to her. Now that’s fucked up. Stan tries to convey that very message through a deep furrow of his brows, and a very simple, “Wendy, what the fuck?”

His language doesn’t throw Wendy off, her sigh more of an acknowledgment that he’s going to be doing a lot less listening than will be good for either of them. 

“Don’t you think this was coming, Stan?” Setting her notebook to the side, Wendy crawls across her creamsicle orange bedspread till their knees touch. Stan holds back on a flinch, carefully keeping his gaze off of her. “Stan?”

He doesn’t want to humor her. Wendy’s broken up with him a lot of different ways, but it never hurts his pride any less. This conversation feels so exhausting before it’s really even started, he basically knows the way it’ll go, anyways. He wishes he could just close his eyes and sleep it away, wake up when he doesn’t need to use up any emotional energy on this.

Wendy seems to have enough of Stan’s silence.

“Fine, do you know what I did today? I wrote an essay that isn’t due for two weeks, Stan. Two weeks!” Her gaze is searching, not that Stan is sure what for. Maybe to reap the spoils of the massive heartbreak she’s left him with. Whatever she finds, it’s a disappointment if her sinking shoulders is anything to go by. “You’ve been over all day, and all I could think of is ‘The Catcher in the Rye,’ isn’t that weird to you? Isn’t it weird that you don’t care if we do homework all day, because it’s what we do every time we hang, anyways?”

Hurt coils itself around Stan’s heart. It doesn’t matter what Wendy thinks, there was no way that he had anticipated getting dumped while doing algebra. He’d always figured they were above doing what everyone else their age does, anyways. So what if they don’t party and have teenage sex anytime her parents leave the house? There’s nothing wrong with acting a little more adult. This is ridiculous, and Stan damn near scoffs about it.

“So, you’re giving up on me?”

“God fucking dammit!” Wendy’s anger is sudden enough to strike Stan dumb. She balls her hands into fists, but does nothing other than seethe. Her face always got red in blotchy strokes over her neck and cheeks, something he once found endearing to see her so passionate. Now, he didn’t feel much of anything. 

He chose to meet her stare, now, without much resistance. This was bound to go the same way it had countless times before, a dumb argument that leads to no conclusion, then a few days of angst and existential dread before they’d be back to their homework, guilt free. 

“You’re so full of shit, Stan Marsh!”

“...Huh?”

“Don’t ‘huh,’ me! God! You just know how to make everything about you!”

That was just completely not true, but Stan doubted pointing that out would help his case even remotely. Besides, if Wendy is supposedly dumping him, how would this _not_ have anything to do with him? He’s not the one who decided to blow up out of nowhere, when everything was meant to be okay.

“Look- right now you have that face you make when you’re pitying yourself. I bet you think this has nothing to do with you, that there’s no way I should even want to break up, that we were totally fine. It’s just- It isn’t true, Stan! I don’t think we even know each other anymore!” 

“I know you…” Stan says with an uncertain rasp to his voice. He swallows thickly, and scratches at his hair beneath the brim of his beanie, knowing his expression has begun to betray just how torn up he’s feeling, “...Right?” 

“You don’t.” Wendy reiterates with a firm shake of her head, layered black hair falling out of her short pony to meet her cheeks. Stan noticeably doesn’t feel the need to push that hair behind her ear as he used to, and the realization stings at him with guilt. 

This change in atmosphere is enough to soften the anger within Wendy, her posture slumping with exhaustion. She holds Stan’s hands in her own, squeezing them to catch his attention. 

“I’ve gone through so much this past year, with myself- my family… And I don’t think you know any of it. I don’t think I let you in to see any of me. I keep thinking of the person you must think of as _‘me,’_ and I hate it. I hate that I probably have no idea who this Stan is, too. I can’t name more than five things about you that happened in this past year. I mean- what is that? How can we possibly be making each other happy when we’re only holding on because it’s convenient?”

When Stan is unable to find the answers Wendy needs, he realizes that’s exactly what she intended to hear. His failure builds like bile in his throat, bitter and biting at the muscles behind his mouth. He openly grimaces. It feels like he’s mourning a loss that hasn’t been cemented, but hangs over their heads like certain rainfall. 

“Face it, Stan. I can’t fix you...”

He shuts his eyes, making an attempt to breathe steadily through his nose. Wendy’s thumbs brush across his knuckles, before pulling away.

“...And you don’t want me to.”

\--

“Heartbreak, unrelenting; Stomachache keeps on aching; lay me in this bed of thorns. Argh-”

Melodic strumming stops abruptly, Stan bending over his acoustic to scribble at his notebook. The page is just about covered in angry lines of lead, lines crossed out and rewritten, his letters slanted and dark with the rushed force of his writing. The rest of his notebook has gone through similar abuse through the years, pages dog-eared and nearly ripped off its spiral. It’s a beloved notebook, as close to a diary as Stan would let himself get to. He doesn’t do gay ass talent shows like Tweek, and now that he’s back in the city those farm fairs are passé. Nah, he’d rather spend his time pouring everything into a song, closing that notebook up, and letting it fester and die far away from him. Till the next time he’s gotta song to compose, anyways.

Testing a new melody out for size, Stan mumbles under his breath to the slow strum of his fingers against strings. A smack against the window behind him causes his last chord to screech out like nails on a chalkboard. In the following shock and struggle to compose himself, Stan nearly drops his acoustic to the floor, which would have sucked like shit because there’s only so many falls she can handle, and she’s a vintage. So, like, what the fuck, you know?

Stan turns to glare at the small face that’s no doubt peering through his blinds at him, as it has at least once a week in the past decade. Still doesn’t mean he’s gotten used to it, though, or the way his intestines swoop when he catches a hint of that shit-eating grin. Setting his guitar carefully onto its stand by the floor, he crawls back onto his bed towards his window. Kenny gives him a wave that he resents, only for the way it makes the other boy wobble for a bit before regaining his hold on the windowsill. That bastard is going to kill himself like this one day, and if not from the fall it’ll be the ‘I told you so’ ass beating that’d follow. 

Opening the window leads to a dramatic shuffle to get Kenny inside. No matter how much he might think he’s a parkour master, it’s still an awkward way to enter a residence. Stan grabs onto Kenny’s wrist and elbow, successfully pulling him in with a single heave. They topple awkwardly onto each other, bony elbows clashing into plush places. Kenny giggles, his breath tickling right against Stan’s ears till he’s pushed himself up into a more suitable position. He always manages to find amusement in getting his way. As always, Kenny’s giddiness eventually causes him to fold, and his annoyance to subside.

“I can’t stand it when you do that-”

“Hey t’you, too, Stanley.”

Reluctantly, Stan responds with his own hi. He was raised to be polite, and it’s a curse he’s yet to relieve himself of. “My mom’s gonna kill me if she finds out you’re still doing this shit. You know she doesn’t care if you come in late, dude.”

This was, of course, useless to point out. Kenny’s heard it all before, and Stan has been left to assume that he risks his life to spite him. He’s a common guest at Sharon’s place, who’s much more relaxed and easygoing in her parenting since her split from Randy. Their divorce isn’t on paper, or anything, but the decision to leave him back at the farm for their old place seemed pretty final. Randy likes to act as if his family had abandoned him, but from the way he barely responds to Stan’s occasional ‘Happy holidays’ texts (other than to be passive aggressive,) he’s doing just fine on his own. With Shelly out of state for college, and Stan still uncertain what he’ll do after graduation in May, he’s sure his mom is more than happy to have someone else over making the place feel more lived in. For a quiet kid, Kenny sure does know how to bring a sense of homeliness around with him.

“Smells like teen angst in here,” Kenny notes as he kicks his shoes off, with a comfortable disregard for Stan’s carpet. He always spoke with a bit of a mumble, hood on or not, his words falling together lazily. It was so easy to miss what he was trying to say, and no matter what Stan was busying himself with, he found himself hanging onto his friend’s words, “ ‘M just helpin’ you air out the place.”

“Wendy and I broke up,” Stan answers, as if what Kenny had said had actually been ‘Gee, Stan, what’s ailing you, bud?’

This doesn’t phase Kenny, who’s more preoccupied with poking at his notebook. Shutting it, Stan holds the book to his chest where it’ll be safe from Kenny’s nosiness. This only earns him a pitchy, babyish whine in response. Unphased, he busies himself with stowing the notebook back into his bedside drawer.

“How come you still don’t let me see your gay music diary? I feel like I should be offended, as a friend.”

Stan rolls his eyes, “Maybe I’d show you if you weren’t being a shitty best friend who doesn’t care that I’m, like, kinda in my feelings right now.”

“I care!” When Stan scoffs, he shoots him a glare and reiterates, “I care. It’s just not the first time you’ve split.”

He does have a point. Over their ten year history, Stan and Wendy have done their fair share of break-ups. While they were younger there were the more frequent and petty break-ups that came with the age. But, as they matured their arguments began to hold more weight, and there was the pressure to make things work. Their break-ups were more spaced out, but usually lasted longer, going on for months or even a year. Technically, lasting at two years solid, this was the longest they’d gone _without_ a break-up.

Stan collapses onto his back with a groan, resting his head against his friend’s lap. Kenny freezes up, much as you would to avoid scaring away an animal. His hands hesitate above his lap, but when Stan peeks up at him, Kenny takes the chance to let his fingers fall into his hair. He gently scratches at his friend’s scalp, a practiced maneuver he knows helps calm Stan’s nerves. (And, if he were being honest, it helped calm his own, too.)

“It’s for good this time.”

“T’be fair, you said that last time.”

“No, this is _it,_ ” Stan cuts through the air with a firm karate chop of his hand, his brows furrowing as he recounts the finality of his shitty relationship, “We’re _done_ done. Leathery overcooked steak, done.”

Tilting his cheek against the warm material of Kenny’s sweatpants, Stan recounts the entire catastrophe of his break-up, from the total out-of-nowhereness of it all to her accusations that he was only in it for convenience. Hurt and annoyance swirls around his guts like slow-moving sludge. Kenny’s fingers don’t stop when he decides to speak, which Stan’s privately grateful for. 

“I think Wendy hassa point, dude.”

“But-”

“Hear me out.”

“No! What the fuck?” Stan pushes himself up from Kenny’s lap, readjusting his falling beanie. “You think so too?”

“Stan,” Kenny pleads. His voice is soft, and frustratingly patient. He knows just the way to make Stan feel as if he’s acting like a tool. Kenny can be pretty aggressive and straight-forward, or uncaring and spaced out, but this gentle side of him was often reserved for private. It’s what stood out to him most when they hung out without the other guys, how touchy and soft-spoken they could be with one another, sandwiched between all the other dumb teenage boy shit they engaged in. 

Just a single utterance of his name has Stan slumping his shoulders forward, like a pitiful sap. It’s a bit pathetic. It’s entirely predictable. “Okay, what is it?”

“Dude, no offence, but you were fuckin’miserable with Wendy.”

Stan huffs a bit of air through his lips, “That’s a bit of an exaggeration…”

Sure, he had his moments with his ex, times where she’d been overbearing, times where she was underbearing. No relationship is perfect, and sure some days he wanted nothing more but to crack open his mom’s wine and rant to his best friend without any judgement, but it’s not as if he spent every day of the past year wallowing.

A bit of annoyance tinges the edges of Kenny’s words, “You were bored out of your fucking mind dating her, Stan. Like, I don’t think you spent more than five percent of the past semester seein’ her. And no-” He cuts in before Stan can interrupt, the latter boy’s cheeks pinkening with embarrassment. “-Eating lunch at the same table doesn’t count.”

In truth, Stan probably spent most of his time with the boy seated on his bed. Kenny often slept over when things were rocky at his own place, or when Stan was particularly in need of company. It’s not like Wendy was about to climb a tree for him after eleven on a school night.

“And…” Kenny continues, gaze drifting down where he picks a stray thread of Stan’s bedspread. “I don’t really think you guys missed each other? Like, if you talked about her at all you usually just complained that she was texting you too much, or that you never even did shit together.” 

"I didn’t know what I was losing, Ken!” He whines, his voice tilting up from masculine into embarrassing. “My past self was full of shit, taking her for granted. At this point I could be alone forever, we’ve spent most of our school careers together that I doubt anyone would wanna get with me before prom - and I’d look fucking stupid going stag!” 

“You’re bein’ a baby.” Patient Kenny takes the back seat, letting Blunt Kenny take the stage with an exaggerated show of rolling his eyes. “There’s no way in Hell that the star captain of the football team, with perfect teeth, and an ass that won’t quit, will be alone forever. At least come up with somethin’ that makes sense if you’re gonna fall back into your harmful and repetitive self-pity parade.”

“Jeez, Ken.”

Kenny just offers Stan a raise of his eyebrows, daring him to go against his points. Swallowing past a weird attack of nerves in the pit of his stomach, Stan has to admit to himself that in the very small compartment of his brain that remains rational, that Kenny’s right. Not so sure about his ass being unable to quit, though, since he doesn't get what that entails. What is an ass going to quit? It’s job??? Regardless of what an ass will or will not do, Stan loses his need to argue. 

He finally admits, “I just spent so long feeling nothing, it’s weird to feel all that shit boil up, now. Like, no matter if I was bored or whatever before, I just feel like such shit now.”

“Don’t you think that, maybe, that’s what Wendy wanted?” Kenny’s small hand wraps around Stan’s wrist, his eyes dropping to follow the contact. His fingers are so slender and skinny, always cold. “She thought you were both stuck, right? She probably knows exactly what you’re feelin’ right now, dude”

“Ugh. Dude,” Stan’s face falls into a display of teenage despair. This fucking sucks. Kenny pats his arm, though it doesn’t feel as condescending as it probably should. It briefly reminds him of Kenny’s good cop shtick, from years and years ago, something he easily hasn’t thought of in a decade. It allows him a moment of subdued and surprising laughter, that Kenny’s kind enough not to question besides a gentle crinkling of his eyes. When Stan decides to lay his head onto his shoulder, nothing more needs to be said. 

They can spend hours this way, much as they have throughout the better half of their friendship, whether one of them needed comfort, or they just wanted to appreciate each other’s presence. Stan muses about how different silence is with Kenny than when he was with Wendy. Silence with Wendy was palpable, and an itchy search to find something to say. Towards the end of their relationship it had become just a bored and accepted lack of anything. Silence with Kenny is just that, a silence, and it doesn’t have to be anything else. It’s calm, which relaxes him. Or scares him? It’s something. Something slow-building in the base of his chest, licking at the insides of his lungs. As long as he doesn’t really think about it, it’s usually fine.

Kenny flexes his fingers against Stan’s wrist, a nail brushing against the sensitive plush of his palm. A breath escapes him. He’d forgotten Kenny had even been holding onto him, he can get so still when they fall into silence.

“I was so fucking bored with Wendy,” He confesses, feeling like he has to, like something is stringing the words up from his throat and laying them out across the bedsheets. “She said she started seeing us as friends, like the kind who get married for a green card, using each other for a label.”

Kenny’s chin butts against the top of Stan’s head when he tilts to listen to him. His amused breath of a laugh tickles against his forehead. He was a few inches shorter than Stan, and all he could think of was how he didn’t mind the subtle ache in his back that appeared when he rested against him like this.

“She’s right, too. Fuck, dude-” He laughed himself, ending it off with a sigh, “-You know we haven’t even made out in, like, six months.”

“Huh?”

Kenny is rightfully surprised by this, as a man of culture he understands the importance of tending to a teenage boy’s libido. He must’ve been thinking of those nights they stayed up discussing how hot Rob Pattinson looked as batman, or whispering to each other about what made a girl so pretty, how hot Kenny’s dream last night was. Nothing was taboo to them anymore, not after years of history and friendship. Confessions and long-held secrets bound them together, like glue. To hear that this whole time Stan hadn’t even been getting any must’ve shattered some preconceived idea of his coolness.

“So-” Kenny pauses, tasting his words against his tongue before speaking, “Does that mean you’re’a virgin?”

Kenny often told Stan when he was interested in someone, or had just hooked up. Stan, ever the great friend, held back _some_ of his judgements, if there were any. The few people he’d been with in the past looked fine, but they tended to have the personality of wet cardboard. It was never a surprise to him when their relationships stayed to just one night affairs. Kenny isn’t some dirtbag fuckboy, Stan could tell there was disappointment there when they made fun of the random North Park jock who didn’t even know how to put on a condom. Stan never let on that he didn’t know either, but at least he was more interesting than some dude named ‘Blake.’ He often thought to himself that Kenny had shit taste, but he liked indulging in their crude conversations, regardless. Mostly, he divulged his fantasies to Kenny, vague faceless concepts of intimacy that appealed to him. At the time, he just assured himself he didn’t want to use his girlfriend like that in a pair of gross boys’ fancies.

“Don’t laugh.” He lifts his head from Kenny’s shoulder, silently pleading with him.

“Tch,” Kenny turns his nose up at him, “ ‘M not fuckin’ judging you. Even if you were in the longest relationship this school district has ever seen, and are still a virgin who hasn’t kissed in halfa year. I totally respect that.”

Kenny, ever the asshole, barely conceals a _Snrk,_ which earns him a punch to the shoulder. He lets out some girly high-pitched scream, glaring through an extreme side-eye to guilt Stan. Well, it won’t work. Entirely...

“Fuck you, okay?” Stan crosses his arms, full bitch mode. “I think the real issue here is the pressure we put on teenagers to become sexually active, when they’re in no way ready to take on responsibilities as small as handing in homework on time, let alone to make a trip to Planned Parenthood because they went ahead and contracted a dick worm. ”

…

“Dude.” 

Stan feels the weight of their previous silence squash him and his self-esteem like a bug. He crumbles in on himself, pulling his knees into his chest with a dramatic wail.

“It’s not fucking fair!” He kicks his foot aimlessly, like a tantrum throwing toddler, “I’m hormonal as shit, dude, and this sucks ass. I’ve been untouchable for so long that no one’s ever going to want to be with me. While everyone was going to parties and hooking up I was doing homework, like some dweeb. By the time we graduate and go to college everyone’s going to think I’m a loser who’s never seen a boob and fucking rip on me. It’ll be so hard to find love at that point, that I’m going to become the Forty Year Old Virgin, and die alone like a total creep.”

Kenny reiterates his _“Dude.”_

When all that he’s faced with is the subtle shaking of Stan’s shoulders as he hides against his knees, Kenny begins to worry that he’s, like, suddenly _crying_ or something. He tries to pry Stan’s arms from his legs, holding onto his hands so he can’t hide himself another way. He tugs on them impatiently to prompt him to raise his head. Stan complies, revealing his lack of tears (for now) and ridiculous puppy dog pout. He looks so childish it’s incredible. Kenny meets him with a smile; it isn’t condescending, just a comforting lift of his lips revealing his tooth gap.

“Doing all those things is overrated, anyways,” His voice takes on a smooth maturity, something Stan rarely pays witness to. It makes him feel a bit babied, but he thought he might need that sometimes, “People our age are fucking idiots who dunno what they’re doing, even if they act like they’ve haddalot of practice. Shit, you know everyone I’ve been with has been, like, whatever, and they probably thought I was whatever too my first time kissing an’shit. Man, y’should just look forward to being with someone who’s older, wiser, and knows what they’re doing when you’re ready, anyways. That way you can actually see how it’s meant to feel, and have that gay magical first time you dreamed about since you were probably fuckin’ eleven.”

Stan simmers beneath Kenny’s sudden sweetness, staring at him with a dumb expression on his dumb face. He forgets, as always, just exactly why Kenny has remained the person closest to him after all this time. He cares, in spite of Stan’s melodrama, and asks nothing in return but for as much care and understanding. Even in all their boyish humor and antics, they’ve both built a solid foundation of trust that’s free of judgement. Kenny seems to really know what he’s saying, too, providing wisdom that feels smarter beyond their years. It’s a comfort that travels straight into his bloodstream, warming him like a freshly-laundered towel.

“Were your exes that bad?” His voice is meek, the hint of a smile teasing at the corners of his lips. Kenny finds himself wishing to be the final push that turns them up. 

He sticks his tongue out at Stan, faux disgust in full-gear. “Totally. One of them would use too much tongue, and you could tell exactly what he ate for lunch.”

“Sick, dude!” 

The two of them break into giggles, their shoulders bumping as they lean forwards with laughter. Their giggling only grows, something contagious in the air that makes them feel even younger than they are. They’re laughing for the sake of laughing, and because Stan just snorted. Like a domino effect this causes Kenny to abruptly cackle, which is such a sudden and ugly noise that Stan can only laugh harder. They’re wheezing, breathless over a joke that wasn’t so funny to start with. It’s what Stan needed, though, the air lightening around them, freeing itself of his angst and drama. 

He ends his hysteria off with a sigh, a slanted smirk relaxed on his features. Kenny meets his smile easily with his own, the eye contact between them unshakeable for some reason. Stan feels Kenny’s fingers flex again, against his own, reminding him they’ve been holding onto each other this whole time. Ever since he first threw his dumb tantrum. The realization is followed by some gymnastics in his digestive system, and a rush of appreciation for his friend. He feels so at ease with him this way, like no one could possibly be so lucky to have this kind of bond with another person, but somehow he has. A selfishness afflicts him, he wants nothing more but to hold this feeling captive. To know that no matter how annoying he is, Kenny cares for him for some convoluted reason.

Kenny begins to draw circles with his thumb on the back of Stan’s hand, like a screensaver moving on instinct after some inactivity. The silence is Stan’s downfall this one time, an open mic for impulsive mistakes.

“Maybe you should kiss me.”

Kenny stays absolutely still for a moment, frozen in time, thumb halfway through its fourth circle. It’s a sobering enough second for Stan to realize what a fucked up thing to thoughtlessly say that was. He wonders if it’s too late to convince Kenny he misheard him, and all he had innocently said was that he should miss him, or piss him or something, anything else. Fuck. Goddammit. His mind works itself into circles, a mile a minute, and Kenny just continues to stare down at their joined hands like he’s in a fucking freeze-frame. He’s gotten like this before, too, which is the worst part. It’s the way he is when something Stan’s said has made him think too hard. When _he’s_ spiralling a bit, too. A solution refuses to make itself known to him, and he wonders just how quickly he could throw himself out of his still-open window and be sure to land on the ground neck first.

Instead, he clears his throat, which results in a massive flinch from Kenny, his systems apparently rebooting. This includes him dropping Stan’s hands, prompting Stan to call after him, his voice rasped with regret.

“I don’really wanna do a rebound thing, Stan.”

“I- I wouldn’t do that, Ken,” He grabs onto Kenny’s sleeve before he can recede further into himself, the distance between them making him feel cold, “I shouldn’t have just blurted something like that out, that was fucking lame.”

Kenny’s expression is painfully blank, unreadable to heart-on-his-sleeve Stanley.

“I just got dumped, and I’m acting fucking dumb. I just thought- you’re, like, the most amazing person I know, and you’re so wise and experienced with this shit and I just thought… Well, I wasn’t thinking. Shit.”

Stan had come to terms with his bisexuality gradually over years. He couldn’t help and question himself when Wendy had first experimented with her gender expression. He was confused beyond belief, but once everyone’s attention came off the bathrooms so did any of his concern with his own identity. Then when the Asian girls made Tweek and Craig gay, he had once again found himself questioning what that meant for himself. Of course, it came out that the Asian girls hadn’t done anything, Tweek and Craig just worked together. Had both been willing to love a boy. It seemed so simple and that only confused him more. Years of back and forth on the subject silently plagued him, but he figured what he identified with didn’t matter if he was going to keep dating Wendy. He wouldn’t be sharing any kisses with cute boys, so there was no point.

He had been stuck, but acted as if it were his own choice. God, he feels like a colossal moron. Of course Wendy had been right all along, she would be so smug right now if she knew.

He apologizes again for not thinking of how that’d make Kenny feel, his stomach tearing itself apart with guilt.

Kenny softens, and accepts that Stan was being a stupid jock and not making him out to be some whore. He doesn't seem to be able to hold any sort of grudge when he’s upset with Stan. There’s been countless times in the past where Kenny has fallen victim to Stan’s pity party and moved on for his sake. Stan failed to realize just what kind of impact his own happiness had on his friend, and how weak he had made him over the years.

“You’re always gonnabe lookin’ for a deep an’ meaningful relationship, and kissing me jus’for fun wouldn’t be the same.” Kenny clenches and unclenches his hands in his lap. He needs a brief pause between his phrases, carefully picking his words. “Don’t force something to feel good for the moment and cover up what’s hurting you, or what you’re missing out on.”

In the space between his ears where a small cluster of brain tissue is gathered, Stan can recognize that Kenny has points to be made here. His reasons to feel hesitant aren’t wrong, but what picks up on is a distinct lack of real rejection, only reasons for _Stan_ to not kiss _him._ The optimism swoops and soars in his chest like a caged eagle.

“Kenny, dude, you _are_ the most meaningful person to me. I’ve spent more of my time with you than I ever did in my relationship with Wendy. You’re my best friend first, nothing would ever change that.”

He peers carefully into Kenny’s face, dipping his head down to see past the fringe of his hood. As soon as he’s made eye contact with the other boy, Kenny slaps his hands over Stan’s face. He nearly loses his balance with an ‘oof-’ but the hands remain blinding him. 

“Dude, what gives?” 

He can hear Kenny make a frustrated sort of noise, whiny and subdued. His voice sounds so small, barely audible words floating past him, but Stan’s well-trained in catching them.

“Y’don’hafta be cute about it…”

Those mumbled words transform the tension in the room, static shocks sticking up the hair on his arms. The thought that if Stan says just the right thing it can get Kenny to feel affected by him gives him a shot of adrenaline. His next move is crucial, it could be the one thing to bridge that gap between them. It’s as if a parasite has taken over his brain, making this the only thing he could want.

“My mom once said God made me out of a mixture of buttons and cotton candy, making me so cute that I just can’t help it. It’s not my fault.”

Kenny falls into silence, again, noticeably leaving his hand as they are against Stan’s cheeks. Said cheeks raise against his palms when Stan smiles. Despite his racing and anxious heart, and the uncertainty of their situation, he doesn’t mind allowing Kenny that silence. He’s willing to wait.

His efforts are rewarded when, after what must be over thirty seconds, Stan’s able to open his eyes up again at the removal of Kenny’s hands. He instead holds onto his hood, his eyes averted far from Stan. For such a typically smartass guy, Kenny seems totally incapable of handling any kind of comment that’s the slightest bit flirty. It only spurs Stan on, wanting to chase after the high that accompanies it. To see if Kenny stumbles more, flusters deeper. It’s such an interesting look on him. Just when he thought he could know another person inside out, there’s more there to discover.

He wants to learn all that he can.

“I guess I…” Kenny rubs his fingers over his lip as he speaks, Stan tracking the movement, “I wouldn’t be totally disgusted with kissin’you.”

Stan laughs, which finally gets Kenny’s attention. Realizing that Stan isn’t laughing _at_ him he seems to relax, a loose smile worming onto his lips. 

“What I mean is, I figured- and accepted it’d never be on the table or nothin’, so I didn’t expect you t’ask. It surprised me.” He seems almost shy with himself, shrugging his shoulders childishly.

Stan feels childish himself, the taste of bile distant in his throat as if he were a kid again. Or never stopped being a kid. 

“Kiss or no kiss, I don’t mind any way.” His voice shrinks down to a whisper, like he’s hiding his confessions from the wallpaper, “Nothing between us’ll get ruined, if you’re scared about it. I wouldn’t put it on the table, or anything, if that was possible, dude.”

Kenny doesn’t appear to entirely believe him, but his cheeks pinken like winter breeze all the same. Stan notes every change with a hunger.

“That last thing I want is to lose you, Stanley.”

“Then if you do, I’ll let you kick my ass.” He promises, with a smile. Kenny returns it, and their hearts simultaneously soar.

They stay that way for a while, nothing else needing to be said. Nothing else to say. The truths hang heavy in the air between them, neither one of them making a first move. They’re liquifying into younger versions of themselves, shy schoolboys who giggle at the thought of kissing. They can’t hold each other’s eyes anymore, and Stan’s certain that it’s become quiet enough that Kenny can hear it every time he swallows. Is the sound of him swallowing annoying? He holds his breath, then very quickly realizes just how dumb that is.

He figures since he’s the one who asked Kenny, he should probably make a move, right? It’s not like there’s one of them who’s the girl or the guy in this situation so he feels a bit lost. Are there even rules to these things?

He decidedly pokes Kenny between the ribs, a place he knows for a fact is the single tickle spot to instantly reduce the other boy to giggles. “Stop being so weird.”

“Fuck you, Darsh!” He slaps at Stan’s hand with a wheeze. “You’re the one being all weird! You’re such a dumb virgin, I don’even know what t’do with you.”

This should offend Stan, and though it doesn’t he does make a weak glare at Kenny, who willingly returns it. Not a second passes till they’re laughing again. At the situation, at themselves, either way it’s freeing. Stan finds himself feeling perfectly content this way. No matter what, he knows he feels happy like this, laughing himself stupid with his best friend. 

The sentiment feels shared, if he’s reading into the way Kenny’s practically glowing right. His eyes have softened into a warm twinkle, as always offering themselves as a doorway into his feelings. It’s a final reassurance that this will be okay.

This, ironically, is what inspires Stan to move. Not allowing himself a moment to lose his confidence, he pushes Kenny’s hood from his face and cups the back of his head, his fingers pushing between soft blond strands. Kenny anchors himself with his hands around Stan’s waist, the cold of his fingers felt through the thin material of his t-shirt. He feels green, and excited, and terrified. It’s so exhilarating.

Kenny, pretty as is physically possible, lets his eyes slip shut. Waiting. Certain. Stan tries to emulate that confidence.

Their lips brush once, a cold meeting of their lips that results in a gasp. Stan burns, embarrassed with how shy he’s suddenly become. He doesn’t mean to be such a virgin about it, and he wants to almost apologize. Kenny doesn’t offer him the chance to, though, nudging the tip of his button nose against Stan’s before claiming another kiss. It’s innocent, the sweetest thing Stan has ever tasted. It’s strawberry-kiwi gum, and Blistex, with a minor hint of ash. He could get sick off of it.

He… He really could get sick off it.

Stan pulls back abruptly, hands over his mouth as he gags. He wills himself into swallowing it down, with a Herculean effort. Not. Today.

“Ugh! Fucking sick, dude!” 

“Shit-” Stan swallows again, the remnants of bile and humiliation tinging the back of his tongue. “Sorry, Ken, that was so gross. I thought I was over that, oh my God.”

Kenny fixes him with a blank stare, lips parted in a little ‘o’ shape. 

“Wait-” He tilts his head, “Were you nauseous, because I kissed you?”

The following silence as Stan awkwardly rubs the back of his neck is as much of an assurance as Kenny must need, because he’s quick to press his hands to his own reddening cheeks, laughing nervously to himself. He mutters ‘wow,’ which in turn only makes Stan’s stomach jolt once more.

Kenny’s smile is pure, new emotions mixing in with that familiarity and sense of childhood it always brought before. It makes Stan feel safe; yet another reassurance. He knows he can explore these feelings with Kenny, not worrying himself on the magnitude of it all, for once. 

“Can I kiss you, again,” He asks, brows tilted up with insecurity, “Or am I too gross?”

“You are pretty gross,” Kenny’s smirk is telling when he holds Stan by the collar of his sports’ jacket, “Bet I’m even grosser, though.”

With that they kiss again, and Stan notes the gradual progression of their kisses. Each new press of their mouths follows an additional weight of _something_ behind it. More of Kenny’s hands, or his legs, his chest pressing to Stan’s, his teeth against his lip. He tries to follow along, like a champ. 

Even if they’re doing this a bit impulsively, and even if they don’t know what will come out of these kisses, one certainty is that the two boys feel happy. Stan’s not-so broken heart mends itself on the plush of Kenny’s lips, and the part of a simple sigh. It’s mind numbing, and it’s real. 

Their kisses don’t move any further than that, eventually petering out once after what feels like hours, their mouths bruised with it. But, the cuddling afterwards is new. 

New turns out to be pretty nice.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy new season, guys!  
> This is my first fic in, like, 3 years so please feel free to lmk what you think in the comments I'd really appreciate it! Def. more to come as I am a simple Stenny farmer who wishes to tend to my crops and provide a bountiful harvest
> 
> find me on socials at  
> https://twitter.com/toolshedraven  
> https://stansmarsh.tumblr.com/


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